


You And I Are A Long Lost Myth

by Hawkgay



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe-Ben Is Alive, Angst, Attempted Drugging, But it's only a kiss, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lovecraftian Elements, M/M, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Pseudo-Incest, Slow Burn, no beta we die like ben, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkgay/pseuds/Hawkgay
Summary: Ben never died, he left the Academy days before his eighteenth birthday in the dead of night. Reginald covered it up by telling everyone he died and made sure he could never come home. Taken in by a mysterious agency in opposition of the Commission, Ben spent the last decade helping them avoid a premature apocalypse by alien entities like the Horror residing inside Ben. After a month of no new cases assigned to feed the Horror, Ben closes the bookshop he works at as a cover and decides to hunt in the backstreets of the city. Unintentionally he crosses paths with the sibling he misses most in an almost tragic twist of fate.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66





	1. A Sudden, Simple Twist Of Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this fic to the Horrance server and my friend Demi who I promised a year ago I'd write this.

Rain battered the faded blue striped awning hanging over the window of The Vaults Of Dread, the last shop on an otherwise deserted street with a light still on inside. Sandwiched between an off-brand dollar store and a hipster run cafe, the book store had remained trading under a few different names for decades. Despite the fact, many of the places around it closed periodically and reopened again with new businesses. None of the regular clientele of The Vaults Of Dread ever noticed any changes and barely registered when a new owner took over the shop. Its interior stayed mostly static through the transfers of shopkeepers, with only a new name to show it had changed hands. Which in truth wasn’t strictly true, sometimes an ancient sofa would be replaced or more up to date light fixtures installed. All in all, it was an extraordinary and mundane little book store. 

  
If a passer-by had so inclined to press their face against the cold glass window to investigate the light, they would have found a lone figure sitting at the shop counter, encircled by a cloak of shadows. Then they would hastily step back and quickly move on to their original destination. Assuring themselves, there was nothing ominous about the man reading a book or how the darkness not touched by light seemed to have a life of its own. Later on, in the safety of their own abode, they would push it all aside as some trick of the light, even if they knew deep down, it was a lie. No one ever did look into the windows past closing, no matter the peculiar nature of a light being on this late at night. People automatically sensed something wasn’t entirely right about the old bookshop and avoided it past sundown like the plague.

  
Inside, illuminated by a single antique desk lamp, the current owner sat on a battered leather and wooden stool. Elbows rested on the counter. He held a book open a few inches from his nose with one hand. Face obscured by the gloom as he shifted his neck to relieve the tension it was thrown into relief to reveal a Korean man in his late twenties. Absent-mindedly with the tip of a finger, he pushed back the pair of glasses almost falling off his nose. Lost in his own world, he turned the page of his well-worn book and kept reading as if the time wasn’t nearly ten on a Friday night. 

To the lucky few he considered an acquaintance or were a colleague he went simply by Ben. The odd times when asked his last name, he gave out a different one, each backed up with a drivers licence kept in his wallet. Officially on his birth certificate, he was a Hargreeves, despite abandoning that identity nigh on a decade ago and everything it entailed. If anyone found out the truth, they’d have a hell of a time proving he used to be apart of the Umbrella Academy. Every government database for the defunct group listed only as Six, from his strange birth he’d never been anything else but a number. 

  
Spine cracked down the middle, and the cover creased, Ben had read this particular book cover to cover many times since its release. _Extra-Ordinary_ , the autobiography written by Vanya had become the last strand of connection with his past, and from the family, he chose to walk away. Whenever his birthday rolled around a pang of nostalgic regret tugged at Ben’s heart. None of his siblings knew he was alive, only the lie of his death which Reginald told them to keep Ben from ever returning home. He hadn’t truly understood his impact on the Academy’s dissolution until Vanya aired the family’s dirty laundry to the public. The most surprising part of the book was the fondness for Ben she expressed in her writing; then again, time had tinted both their past memories rose. 

  
Putting the book to the side, Ben stretched his arms leisurely above his head and arched his spine backwards. He wanted nothing more than to go home, reheat some leftovers and hope it eased some of the phantom hunger gnawing at his insides. An appealing prospect after a day metaphorically on the edge of his seat, anxiously waiting for the phone to ring and break the tension building inside him. The Horror beyond starving at this point in the month and Ben’s control had stretched to near snapping point.

  
Ben stood up and went to grab the leather jacket hanging on the hook next to him. A familiar sensation of a thousand needles pricking into his skin slowly crept over him. The edges of his vision darkened and blurred out the comforting sight of the shelf filled shop. Soon the world faded completely as his eyesight failed entirely and plunged him into nothingness.

  
Five minutes later, he resurfaced into consciousness, torso sprawled over the counter with a pounding headache nestled behind his eyes. Carefully he pushed himself off the pockmarked surface of the counter and noticed blood smeared on it. Sleeve rolled up to his elbow. Ben moved his arm to the desk light for a better look. Scored into his skin above the red disc of scar tissue where his Umbrella tattoo used to be, a thin and deep cut had appeared. It sluggishly oozed great beads of thick dark blood which gathered in the crook of his elbow. Roughly Ben yanked open a drawer in the counter and rummaged through the contents for a piece of tissue to staunch the bleeding. He found a discarded fast food napkin under a sheet of blu tack and pressed it tightly on the wound. That’s when he caught sight of the discarded copy of _Extra-Ordinary_ laid neatly in the centre of the countertop.

Defaced with brown drying blood, the cover of the book,  
and the eyes of young Vanya’s portrait were crudely removed. Leaving empty holes to stare at Ben from under her blunt bangs. A line of arcane symbols had been scribbled messily across her mouth. The words a language older than humanity and the earth itself, something Ben understood by virtue of his connection with something outside this universe. The sentence chilled him to the very marrow of his bone. 

_Feeed Ussss_

  
The hair on the back of Ben’s neck raised to attention as he felt the clicking and chittering of displeased mandibles in the back of his mind. A warning to not delay his hunt another, lest he face the full consequences of the Horror’s wrath. 

  
Ben chucked the blood-stained napkin into the plastic paper bin and pushed his hoodie sleeve down. He shrugged on his leather jacket and picked up the black nylon messenger bag from under the counter. Ben pulled the strap over his head and adjusted where it sat on his shoulder. The vandalised book he shoved deep into his bag before he fished out his keys, a slightly crushed cigarette carton and a cheap yellow plastic lighter out of his jacket pocket. He walked out from behind the counter and hurried across the mismatched carpeted floor to the front entrance. 

Ben left the safety of his shop and slammed the door shut behind him, rattling the glass pane in it as he did so. He inserted one of the keys on his keyring into the lock, turned and removed it. Next came time to pull down the metal shutters until they slid into the groove at the bottom of the storefront. He bent over and hooked a padlock on a metal hoop in the middle part of the shutters and snapped it shut with a satisfying click. Ben jiggled it to make sure it held, happy it would keep he stood back upright and shoved his ring of keys into the pit of his pocket. He shuddered, though not from the cool September air. Direct communication with Them never boded well for an easy night for Ben. 

  
He tapped out a cigarette from the carton, placed the end into his mouth and cupped his hand around the tip. Ben struggled to flick the lighter on for a few seconds until finally it flared into life and remained alight. He held the flame to the end of the cigarette. It caught with a burst of fire before it settled to an ember orange glow. Smoke inhaled deeply into Ben’s lungs; he let the first drag fortify his frazzled nerves as he allowed the smoke to drift out of his lips. The next couple of hours were going to be an absolute nightmare. Ben pulled both of his hoods over his head to shield against the ever-present rain and left the shelter of the shop’s awning. Opposite the direction to his apartment, he walked towards the noisy streets of downtown on a Friday night.

* * *

  
Emerging from the darkness, a person staggered haphazardly down the empty street. Momentarily highlighted by the yellow fluorescence of a street light the silhouette of their umbrella made them appear as if from another world. Out of a hole in the cheaply manufactured clear plastic rain trickled through and steadily dripped onto the rat’s nest of curls adorning the man’s head. His eyes ringed with smudged eyeliner and deep purple bags, goatee slightly overgrown it was apparent he had nowhere to go. Another lost Umbrella Academy member, the man formerly known as the Seance went by the name Klaus. A name which felt wrong to him but he never figured out something else to be called. It’s not like it mattered to him in the greater scheme of his fucked up life. 

  
Unknown stains covered the faux fur-trimmed coat Klaus wore to fend off the autumn chill. The seams at the sleeves had started to split and were kept together with rusty safety pins. The rest of his clothes fared no better in their condition, filthy and dishevelled no one would ever know he used to be famous. The evening and past decade treated Klaus unkindly. Hours he’d spent waiting in the torrential downpour for a chance at a space in a shelter was a waste of time. By the time his turn came, they had already filled to capacity, and they told him to try somewhere else. He hadn’t bothered if one was full; the rest of the shelters in the city would be too. Finding someone to take him home had been a fruitless endeavour, every club or bar Klaus vainly tried to talk his way into rejected him for his scruffy appearance.

  
Of course, he knew people who could feasibly take him in, most of them the sketchy drug dealers Klaus bought from. If he was particularly desperate, he let them use him; however, they wanted for a dry place to sleep. A full-proof plan if Klaus hadn’t been forced back into rehab a few months back and ended up leaving several drug dealers on bad terms. The worst a man Klaus detested with every fibre of his being, a savage thug who liked to knock him about and broke his nose the last time they saw each other. Then again he kind of deserved it, he had stolen a set of antique knives and pawned them to pay another dealer. As well as the dude having a really unhealthy obsession with him. Yeah, it was probably best to lay low and not broadcast his release to any of the dealers the fucker was friendly with.

  
The Academy was always his last resort. For the low, low price of selling Klaus’s already low morals, he could have a clean bed and a warm breakfast. He only had to be on his best behaviour and pretend his Father hadn’t abused the shit out of him. The idea of sleeping inside those ghost-infested halls sickened Klaus more than blowing dudes for drugs, which left Klaus with roughing it outside in some alleyway. 

  
He shuffled towards the nearest opening between industrial buildings and went into the shadowy back streets which ran maze-like around the entire district. Klaus stopped near the entrance and inspected it in the dim light. Plastered with wet cardboard and newspaper, the ground smelled vaguely of cat piss and misery. Further down, he noticed the recess of a bricked-in doorway. Not a fantastic place to sleep and he’d have to curl up into a ball, but at least Klaus would stay somewhat dry. Plus he didn’t need to do anything nasty like fake his entire personality or fuck someone.

  
Back against a wall, Klaus retrieved a sandwich bag with a joint inside from an interior coat pocket. He took out a book of matches from another pocket, Klaus lit up the joint and took a deep hit off it. Holding the smoke in his lungs, he listened to the soothing rat-a-tat of the rain hitting his umbrella. The weed warmed and loosened all tension in his body. As Klaus exhaled, he watched the smoke blow away in the wind and hummed a tune to himself.

  
Without warning, someone slammed into Klaus and knocked the air out his lungs. On reflex, he dropped both the joint and umbrella in a fruitless attempt to throw his attacker off of him. Pinned against the wall, he was at eye level with his assailant. Face obscured by a hood Klaus stared deeply into the black void and wondered if the Grim Reaper before him would finally end his traumatic life. Again, Klaus tried to use some of the training forced on by his torturous Father to dislodge the other person. Steel like, their grip was unyielding and kept Klaus right in place.

  
Something slithered leisurely out of the hood and glided towards Klaus’s face. The thing glistened wetly in the hazy glow of distant street lights. Almost diseased looking, it palpitated regularly in a foul mockery of a human pulse. Nausea formed at the back of Klaus’s throat as the tip opened into quarters and revealed a hellish flower of small teeth. In another last-ditch effort to escape, he started to thrash and pushed his attacker back. Somehow he managed to wiggle free his left arm and shoved his hand into the hood until it pressed against the other person’s face. The thing retreated to whence it came as his assailant grabbed hold of Klaus’s coat sleeve. They pulled his hand away, tearing the sleeve at its busted seam. A safety pin pinged off into the night as the umbrella tattoo on Klaus’s wrist was exposed.

  
Then a strange thing occurred. Forearm encircled in the vice-like grip of Klaus’s attacker. They froze as they noticed the mark on his wrist. They pulled it closer to their unseen face and dropped it like Klaus was radioactive and stepped back. 

  
“Klaus?” the name drifted out of the hood and dismantled Klaus’s defences completely. Underneath the stern tone of voice, something seemed familiar, yet for the life of him, Klaus could not place it.

  
The stranger pulled down the double layer of hoods hiding their identity and showed Klaus a face he’d known far too well and never expected to see in life again. Without thinking, he reached out and grazed his fingertips across the cheek of a brother he long assumed dead.

There were many things left unsaid between them, Klaus wanted to know why Ben left without him and if he’d been alive all this time why hadn’t he sought him out. The last day he had properly called the Academy home was also Klaus’s first one back in months. He’d found Diego waiting for him in Ben’s room and broke the news of what happened, hurling Klaus off the precipice of sanity. He’d filled the empty space left in his heart with more drugs, sex and booze. He forever chased the chance to become numb. If sobriety was his own personal devil, then he preferred to worship at the altar of the God of hedonism by any means available. His world had imploded once before by Ben, Klaus did not think he could survive it a second time. 

The only thing he could get passed his lips in reply to the situation was the name he’d whispered like his own personal mantra whenever Klaus felt lost. Though it held an entirely different weight than before. 

“Ben?”

His brother responded by pulling Klaus into a crushing embrace and forced him to rest his head on Ben’s shoulder. Awkwardly Klaus stooped down to make it easier on the both of them and breathed in deeply the comforting smell of cigarette, old books and something altogether Ben on his leather jacket.

  
As they stood there, Klaus cottoned on to what Ben had attempted to do to him. The realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks. He’d seen the devastation wrought by the monsters under his brother’s skin plenty of times, though he never believed he’d ever be on the receiving end. No stranger to death, Klaus had courted it before. Overdoses mostly and a few near misses involved other players. He attracted bad luck like other people tried to ward it off. Klaus was always in the wrong place and at the wrong time. The unease of what might’ve happened weighed heavy on Klaus, and he’d come close to death once again. Yet he was glad his ill-fate brought his brother back into his life.

  
Separating himself from Ben to get some air, Klaus stood on his own steam for a split second before his legs buckled underneath him. Arms flailing, he managed to grab hold of the front of Ben’s hoodie, sure his brother was going to catch as he’d always done in the past. In reality, Ben hesitated and Klaus dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. His non-existent ass landed flat onto the damp concrete with his hands still full of the fabric of Ben’s hoodie. Forcing his brother to bend in half not to fall himself.

  
Faces merely inches apart Klaus couldn’t help but stare deeply into Ben’s eyes. He noticed the dark brown irises he’d always associated with warmth were now ice cold, filled with an unknown intent that sparked something in Klaus. He wasn’t quite able to rectify the quiet boy he remembered fondly with the solemn man above him, the two like night and day.

Eyes focused on each other for what seemed an eternity for Klaus; neither of them knew quite how to react. The rift the years had created between them hung suffocatingly in the atmosphere. The comfortable relationship of their youth had vanished, and in its place, an uncertainty had surfaced. Klaus thought he’d never see Ben again as anything other than an apparition to taunt him and watch his life become a ruin. Ben was _here_ in flesh and blood, within Klaus’s touching distance. He averted his gaze from those cold eyes to Ben’s slightly agape mouth and watched as he licked his lips. Heat bloomed across Klaus’s cheeks as long-repressed feelings of a non-familial kind returned full force. Inevitably his eyes were drawn back to Ben’s as he let himself feel for the first time since he left the Academy. 

  
Teardrops gathered in the corner of Klaus’s eyes and mixed with the rain as Ben scooped him up off the damp floor. The strength and surety in those arms brought Klaus home; a place barred off from him for years. Hands still wrapped in the front of Ben’s hoodie, he closed his eyes and buried his face into his brother’s chest. He remained like that Ben started to move and Klaus indulged in the steady rhythm of swinging side to side as his brother walked. 

  
Time melted into nothingness for Klaus, the journey to whenever Ben was taking him inconsequential compared to the exhaustion deep in his bones. He was so fucking tired. The hefty weight of the anchor tied to Klaus’s heart had been taken off him; the burden now shared between him and Ben. Unconsciousness beckoned to Klaus like a long scorned lover, and he welcomed it with open arms. The last sounds he registered was the low groan of an iron gating opening and closing before blackness overtook him completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been in the back of my mind for year now and it's taken that long to be able to sit down to write it. A lot has changed for me in that time period, I live on my own and have more free time to dedicate to writing. I hope people like this and I love any comment or kudos I get on this little story that's dear to my heart.
> 
> You can find me at [Unicorn-Bentacles](https://unicorn-bentacles.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> Updated 02/09/2020


	2. You Sit There In Your Heartache

A small width of morning sunlight poured through the half-open blind of the single window inside the bedroom. A plain black mug filled with coffee steamed on the white-painted sill until Klaus picked it up and cradled it between his hands. Cocooned in a duvet, he sat in the centre of Ben’s double bed, the sheets as black as the mug he held. Klaus watched through the window as Ben left out the front door and dashed up the steps. The previous night hung heavy on Klaus’s mind as he sipped his coffee. His exhaustion had left him with only a few snatches of memory of coming here. Mostly he could recall the sensation of strong hands carefully removing his clothes and redressing him. 

  
He drained the last dregs out of the mug and disentangled himself from the duvet. The clothes Ben had loaned him were both too short and baggy for his lithe frame. The sweatpants hung low on his hips and ended halfway up his calves. At the same time, the t-shirt swamped him with excess fabric. Klaus swung his feet onto the bare floor and stood up. For the last half an hour, he’d ignored the pressure of his bladder until he couldn’t anymore. Forcing him to emerge out of his warm nest to find a bathroom.

  
The corridor which led off from the bedroom was short with five doors, including the one he just left. He could see the living room through an open doorway, and another was clearly the front door. This left Klaus with three chances at finding the toilet. Behind the closest one was a carpeted staircase ascending into darkness. The next door was a cupboard filled with boxes and other things. Interest piqued at the way most of it seemed deliberately abandoned and forgotten. He decided to come back later to get a better look.

  
The last door in the hallway revealed the cramped bathroom. The toilet tucked into the corner closest with a shower squished next to it. Opposite the sink had a mirrored medicine cabinet hung above it. Klaus relieved himself into the toilet bowl and flushed. He washed his hands and dried them on the front of his sweatpants. For a moment, he got a good long look at himself in the mirror. Eyes bloodshot, the hollows under them a deep purple and contrasted with the pale white of his skin. He appeared almost dead. He opened the medicine cabinet and examined the pretty standard contents. Behind a bottle of mouthwash, Klaus noticed a bottle of prescription pain meds. The name printed on it read Ben, but the last name wasn’t Hargreeves. He grabbed them, shook out two, and tossed two of the pills into his mouth. To swallow them, he gulped down water straight from the tap and closed the cabinet door without replacing the bottle. 

  
Klaus entered into the main living space of Ben’s basement apartment. A large open plan with a kitchen at one end and a window at the other. The floor was a darkly varnished wood with a few area rugs scattered around the room. A glass table covered in piles of books and stacks of paper sat in front of a black leather sofa. Resting at one end near the armrest was a basket with Klaus’s clothes from the night before, freshly laundered and folded inside. His coat hung over the back, still dirty and damaged, and his shoes laid on their sides on the floor. Shelves took over nearly the entire lengthways of the far wall. Packed with books, Klaus noticed there were huge gaps where books and items had been removed and not replaced. On closer inspection, he saw the same thing was true of other things. Imprinted on the wall were bright squares of paint, the ghostly remains of taken down pictures. It sketched an outline Klaus couldn’t quite understand the shape of, and Ben had scrubbed out to forget. 

  
Klaus put the bottle of pills into his coat and suddenly ravenous, he walked past the mess and into the kitchen. He started to open the overhead kitchen cupboards just to be disappointed to find either health food, plates, and one just filled with various kinds of alcohol. The fridge wasn’t any better, empty of everything other than a carton of milk, some sauces, and a tub of margarine. The whole wheat bread in the bread box was the only thing edible and fresh in the entire kitchen. He deposited two slices of bread into the toaster and pushed the lever down. Klaus busied himself during the wait by pouring out lukewarm coffee from the cafetière into a mug. The toaster popped as he placed the margarine, a butter knife, and a plate on to the counter. He picked up the slices by the edges and burnt his fingers as he dropped them on the plate. Klaus slathered both slices in margarine and bit into one, and moved over to the sofa. 

  
Legs folded underneath him, Klaus settled back into the sofa and sipped some coffee. He set the mug between his knee and the armrest and balanced the plate on his lap. After he ate one slice, Klaus pulled his coat off the back of the sofa and onto the seat. He rummaged around in a couple of pickets until he found what he needed. The glittery makeup pouch he kept his weed and rolling supplies in. Klaus unzipped it, and tobacco, rolling papers, and a silver lighter fell out onto the sofa seat. Mouth full with a half piece of unfinished toast, Klaus adeptly rolled a cigarette with practised ease and placed it behind an ear. He finished the food in his mouth and chased it down with the last bit of cold coffee.

  
Reluctantly he stretched out his legs and got off the sofa. Klaus slipped his feet into his shoes and left them untied as he shucked on his coat and walked into the corridor. A spare key hung on a hook next to the front door with a neon green post-it note on it. His name had been written carefully in Ben’s neat scrawl. He pocketed them, undid the bolt, and swung open the door.

  
The rain had subsided for the moment though everything still had a thin layer of dampness. Klaus stepped just out of the front door and huddled under the small amount of shelter it gave. The little patio was in the later stages of disrepair. Most of the paving stones were cracked and uneven, with grass and dandelions poking through. Neglected pots of flowers and herbs slowly withered away, the overabundance of weeds choking their roots and killing them. A flower pot filled with sand and cigarette butts sat on the living room window sill, which Klaus tapped his ash into. The makeshift ashtray was already spilling over onto the stone sill, and Klaus wondered why his usually fastidious brother let everything fall into such a state. When they’d shared a room growing up, Ben’s side had always been immaculately clean compared to the disaster zone his was. Smoke nearly burnt to the end, Klaus finished his cigarette and stubbed it out with the rest of the discarded butts.

  
He went back inside and let the door slam behind him as he walked towards the living room. Klaus passed the cupboard from earlier, and his curiosity about what Ben’s life had been like got the better of him. As Klaus opened the door, he flipped the hallway light switch. The bulb flickered to life and barely pierced the gloom inside the small storage area. In the shadows, Klaus could make out the shape of boxes upon boxes haphazardly stacked on each other. Framed paintings, the glass-covered in the dust, leaned against the bottom of the pile. He reached for one, and with the edge of his torn coat sleeve, Klaus wiped the dust away and uncovered an intricately painted portrait of Ben. Laid out in a forest clearing and surrounded by forget-me-nots, Ben smiled at the observer. Flowers nestled in his hair and clothes, his eyes beamed with a light Klaus had never seen before with no sign of the coldness he’d seen last night. Anger, jealousy, and bitterness at whoever managed to catch Ben like this surged through Klaus. Years he’d tried to earn more than a smile from Ben, and a stranger succeeded where Klaus had always failed. It burned him to the core.

  
Tears pricked the corner of Klaus’s eyes, and a single drop fell onto the painting as he put it back where it belonged. He began to search through the unsealed boxes on top of the stack. Old Umbrella Academy merchandise filled the nearest. The most notable of the contents were a full set of figures, several vintage lunch boxes, and a signed copy of _Extra-Ordinary_. Another contained the entire original run of the comics, all in sealed plastic sleeves and in order. The third was just sketchbooks in different colours and sizes. Klaus pulled one at random and flipped through the yellowed pages. Every free space crammed with the art of the Academy in their heyday with an added 7th character. A girl who could make her drawings come to life, a clear insert by the original artist. It fascinated Klaus. The new character seemed to be drawn with Ben the most. Had he ever told the artist his real identity as the boy they’d once fixated on? Or Ben lied to them about his past and acted a stranger to the boy he used to be. 

  
The last accessible box was brimming to the top with framed and loose photographs. Every one depicted a short chubby woman with red hair and Ben. Klaus examined the topmost framed picture of a wedding. An unknown bride and groom fed each other cake while in the background Ben in a suit laughed his hand around the woman’s waist. Another showed them as the focus of the photograph. The sunset behind the two as Ben bent down to kiss the red-haired woman on the lips. Her eyes were closed in bliss while Ben’s remained open and staring at her like she was the sun. He seemed at peace. A stark contrast compared to the teen Klaus had fallen in love with. Hurt stung inside him as Klaus realised Ben had moved on in life without him. 

  
The hair on the back of Klaus’s neck stood on end as he sensed something come up behind him. The achingly cold familiar presence of someone not of the living world. 

  
“Where’s Ben?” like nails down a chalkboard, the ghost’s voice cracked in palpable fear. 

Instantly Klaus whipped around and came face to face with the woman from the photographs. Blue eyes bloodshot and skin deathly pale, streams of blood trickled out the inner corner of her eyes like tears. More dripped from her nose, ears, and mouth. Hair tangled and limp on her almost bare shoulders, Klaus noticed stick clots of blood knotted into the copper locks. She swayed on the stop as her gaze darted around the room. Her mind was devoid of everything other than the desperate search for Ben. 

  
Her gaze finally settled on Klaus as she noticed he could actually see her. The ghost reached a hand and took a step closer to him. It broke Klaus out of his dazed stupor as he dodged around the apparition and yanked the front door open. He left and fumbled with the keys as he locked the door. Finally, in the fresh air, Klaus stood a moment to catch his breath. He debated whether he should post the key through the mail slot and leave Ben to his new life. It would be so easy to go, and then Klaus remembered he left his clothes inside. He couldn’t face the ghost again to get them back, so he decided to come back later. Klaus walked away from Ben’s door and ascended the stairs onto the street above.

* * *

Ben paced back and forth in front of the steps leading up to Argyle library entrance as he smoked. Burnt down to the end, he took the cigarette from his mouth and lit a new one off the smouldering remains. He dropped the spent butt on the floor and snuffed it out with his boot. Conflicted, he’d smoked more than usual as he mulled over last night. He’d always regretted leaving the Academy the way he did without telling Klaus first. Truthfully Ben admitted to himself that there had been nothing stopping him reaching out at any time. Near the start, he’d rationalised it as letting Klaus grieve in peace. As the years passed, it got harder to break the silence. He’d carved an everyday life away from being Number 6, and with how fragile it was, Ben became unwilling to have it wrecked by a past he’d tried so hard to move past from. 

  
Crossing paths with Klaus forced Ben to confront everything he’d spent his adult life running from. In his mind, the people he’d murdered to feed the Horror now had Klaus’s terrified face. Ben despised what he’d become, a monster masquerading as a human. He’d slowly cut off every human connection until he was alone. A misguided attempt to save himself from the pain of loss. Paid back to him by nearly killing someone else, Ben cared about. 

A flash of red hair snapped Ben out of his melancholic thoughts, doing a double-take as the stranger walked passed him. Of course, it wasn’t who he’d half hoped, and half expected it to be. Just another person with the same hair colour. Ben dropped his barely smoked cigarette onto the pavement and extinguished it with his shoe. He scraped the worst of the ash off his boot and jogged up the short flight of steps to the library entrance’s double glass door. 

  
The grand atrium of Argyle library was a circular space with light filtering through the glass dome. Several staircases and an elevator bank allowed people to go to the upper levels. Near the entrance, a discrete bronze plaque hung behind the main desk in gratitude for Sir Reginald Hargreeves’ contributions to the library. He’d funded the vanity project back in the 40s to entrench himself deeper into the city’s consciousness as someone to be trusted. Time had frozen the décor and fixtures firmly in the 70s. Almost deserted, the library barely received foot traffic on a Saturday morning. Ben’s steps echoed across the marble as he walked towards the bank of elevators. 

  
As he passed the main desk, Ben waved at the head librarian. A frail older lady Marilyn had worked at Argyle library for as long as he could remember. When he’d sneak out of the Academy to visit, she’d always been kind to him. Never patronising him on his reading choices and let him have a library card without his Father’s permission. Though he doubted, she remembered that kid used to be him. 

  
Ben stopped still at the only elevator with an out of order sign taped to its front. More tape was plastered around the call button. He ignored both and pushed it. The button surprisingly lit up. The elevator hummed as it came to life, and Ben waited until the door slid open. Neglect had begun to show in the interior, the fluorescent light above flickered on and off rapidly, and the carpet was stained and threadbare. He entered inside and pushed a loose panel to one side to reveal a control panel. Ben placed a thumb onto the fingerprint scanner, and the elevator jolted into motion. Steadily the elevator descended into the bowels of the earth. 

  
This was the other reason Reginald had sunk so much money into a public project. To shelter an organisation he’d helped since the 50s and broke ties within the 90s. 

  
The elevator to a stop, and Ben exited out in the translation department. Dubbed the Warren, the installation under the library had a floor plan which made no logical sense. Departments moved, hallways went on far longer than should be physically possible, and dead ends popped into existence where none were before. No one who worked the site never seemed to get lost. The Warren knew its own and kept them safe. The truth could not be said of trespassers; they tended to be swallowed whole by the place. 

  
Ben picked his through the labyrinth of beige painted hallways and nodded in acknowledgement at several co-workers as they passed. The only stop he took on the way to his office was the empty translator’s staff room at the corridor’s end. Wedged between the bathroom and a stationary closet, it was a pokey room with just enough space for a shitty line of kitchen counters and a dining table and chairs. An ancient coffee maker sat on top of one of the off-white counters and tucked underneath it was a puke green fridge. He checked the glass jug and found it still warm; Ben retrieved a standard white mug from the side and filled it with the black liquid. He dumped a crap tonne of sugar and cream in it to make it palatable. Taking a sip of the concoction, Ben grimaced. It would have to do for now. Cup in hand, he left the staff room and finally continued on to his office. 

  
The door to his office was as uniformly plain as the others on the section of the corridor. A plastic sleeve had been stapled to the cheap plywood with a piece of paper slipped inside. The crude placard read Ben Hargreeves, Consultant Translator. Beside the door, a locked steel dropbox was bolted to the wall. Ben placed his coffee cup onto the top of it and fumbled for the keys in his pocket. He pulled them out, unlocked it, and retrieved the assignments he was expected to complete today and sent back to the Archives. Closing the box, Ben went to place his key into the door only to find it already open. Surprised, he picked his mug back up and hesitantly entered inward. 

  
Seated on the far side of his grey steel desk, his superior Mary waited with her attention laser-focused on a manilla folder in front of her. As the door swung open, she looked up. An older woman in her 60s, Mary had brown greying hair. A pair of half-moon glasses were perched on her nose with the ends attached to a brain chain that hung around her neck. She looked and acted the epitome of a stern librarian. A facade she preserved with the majority of her lower-rung employees. Head of the organisation, she was not one to be trifled with. Mary ruled over her domain with an iron fist and treated mistakes with the utmost contempt. In the years Ben had worked for her, she’d barely changed. 

“Good morning Ben, I do hope the commute here wasn’t too dreadful,” she spoke with a very faint English accent. Adding to the grandmotherly appearance, she painstakingly cultivated to outsiders. 

  
Ben pulled himself entirely into the office, closed the door behind him, and then locked and bolted it. He moved a stack of unfinished paperwork off the only visitor chair opposite Mary and put it down on the floor. He took a seat and crossed his arms. 

“What am I needed for this time?” he cut to the chase and asked Mary. 

“Fine, we’ll do away with pleasantries,” annoyed, she continued, “I have two off-site assignments for you. one tonight and the other for within the week.”

  
Mary slipped out a folder from the pile near her elbow and placed it in the middle of the desk. The only thing printed on the front was a reference number. Otherwise, it looked pretty unassuming. 

“I’ll leave this for you to go over after I’ve left,” she gestured at the file, “the other task needs the utmost discretion and has to be given verbally. It must remain between us.

“what is it before I accept?” Ben warily replied. 

“Well, with the imminent arrival of April Downpour next year, we require more information. Our informant has forward us the epicentre as the Academy. Without the Monocle’s cooperation, the institute has no way of figuring out how to stop it,” Mary paused and added, “we require access to his journal. It needs to be retrieved and brought here to be copied then returned. My choice is you.” 

  
Ben shook his head in disbelief. “I’m now allowed back the Academy, remember?”

“Luckily for you, Ben, he’s currently out the country for two weeks. And his butler is still very sympathetic to our cause.” Mary’s smile widened and became shark-like. 

“You can’t force me to go back,” Ben challenged. 

“I thought you’d say that, so I arranged some collateral.” Mary took out two photographs from another file on the stack and laid them in front of Ben. 

  
Glossy, the black and white photos shone under the light on the desk. Both were stills of a CCTV camera set up outside of his apartment. The right one showed Ben carrying Klaus, bridal style, through the gate and down the stairs. The quality of the images wasn’t the best; things were indistinct and fuzzy in both. Almost bad enough for him to lie and say it was someone else until Ben saw the other photograph. Now daytime, Klaus was walking away from the apartment with his coat under one arm. A flash of his umbrella tattoo made it clear of his identity as a member of the Academy. Ben was screwed. 

  
“There are two options we can move forward with Ben, the first? You fetch the journal like a good agent, and Klaus remains in the dark about everything. Including what you’ve done for us,” Mary’s voice deepened as she stared Ben down over her glasses’ rims. 

“Option two? We bring him in, brief him on the institute and send him to the Academy. While I’d personally prefer either TL or WS, we are very happy to obtain more of you.”

  
Ben slumped back in defeat and listlessly stared up at the ceiling. Morally speaking, he couldn’t allow any of his siblings to be swept into the institute’s riptide. Joining exposed them to things more complicated than the stuff they’d faced as teenage superheroes. Knowing she’d won, Mary gathered together the photos and her files. Leaving only the one, he needed for tonight. She stood up and strode out of the office. As the door clicked, shut Ben sighed and reached for the file. 

  
As he picked it up to bring it closer to him, a mug shot fell out and landed facing up at Ben. The photo wasn’t flattering; bruises were scattered across his cheek and neck. Blood dribbled slowly from a split in his lip, and his eyes were red and bloodshot. The sign he held for the camera gave his name as Richard Kelly. Ben dropped it to one side, opened the file, and began to read. 

  
Ben sat up as he realised this dude was behind the mess last week Operations mopped up, which ended in two civilian fatalities and several agents injured. He’d run a pretty gnarly cult based around ritualistic sex magic and Things from unspeakable dimensions. Research had flagged suspicious activity a few weeks back. When looked into, it was apparent they were going to attempt a summoning. Operations had been called out to stop it, and obviously, it went to shit, and the leader managed to escape. And it seems he was now trying to regroup and recruit from the general public. 

  
Checking over the plan for tonight, Ben knew it would be a drag. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and put the file back down. There really wasn’t an option to turn this down either. The monster just under his skin thrummed with a hunger that needed to be fed. Getting up, Ben relocked the door and went to his side of his desk. He pulled out the bottom-most drawer to reveal a pretty standard space. Taking the lid off a filing box, Ben grabbed the hip flask hidden inside and slammed the drawer close. He unscrewed the lid and poured a generous measure of amber liquid into his coffee before replacing the cap. Not bothering to put the flask back, Ben took a swig from his mug and started on the translation work he needed to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally chapter two and I will be real some the angst in this hurt even my black heart to write. I was erring whether to include Ben's girlfriend but I felt like she added something to the fic.
> 
> Updated 02/09/2020


	3. And We Just Go In Circles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So because of S2 of TUA I've had to change chapters one and two, I advise going back to read to understand this one

Death held no weight on the dance floor of a nameless club. One of many Klaus frequented to escape the ghosts and pain from his everyday life. Home was here between the erratic thump of techno music and the collective heartbeat coming off the throng of people surrounding him. The constant ebb and flow of life and the drugs in his system were the closest thing to Nirvana he’d ever achieved. Pure euphoria coursed through his veins as Klaus danced with a cycle of faceless strangers. Of course, eventually, each one left to be swallowed by the crowd once they were done with Klaus. 

  
The past a distant memory; Klaus was no longer at the mercy of a father who couldn’t love him or bound to a matched set of superhero siblings. Most of which had won the cosmic raffle in powers and one who’d won the lottery by having none. Here, in the crowd, Klaus was human in a way no other place could offer him. The music drowned out the ghosts and memories he spent his life running from. Drugs and sex helped to a certain extent, but the dance floor let Klaus truly be free. Lost in a sea of anonymity, his name, number, or superhero alias mattered none here, and Klaus revelled in the feeling. 

  
Klaus caught short glimpses of the bar through the fleeting gaps in the crowd and the irregular flashes of brightly coloured lights. People decked out in a rainbow of different outfits vied for the few bartenders on duty’s attention. On a barstool and squashed into a corner at one far end, a suspicious patron had their hood up. Klaus tried to ignore the stranger but found his gaze drawn to them every few minutes. The hooded figure seemed to be scanning the crowd as if searching for someone. Whenever their head moved to sweep the club, the hood still covered the majority of their face. The mysterious stranger intrigued Klaus. 

  
Near the fringes of the crowd, someone staggered out and headed to the bar. In his late twenties, the guy was a familiar face to Klaus. Another regular who haunted the same dark underbelly of the city. With a jacket of purple faux fur and a neon green mesh top, Rich was someone who’d gained a reputation to be avoided. Klaus had known too many acquaintances go missing after leaving with him. Rich squeezed himself in between two groups at the bar and hailed the nearest employee. 

  
The next part, he didn’t see as someone bumped into him and sent him flying forwards. Once he’d managed to stand back upright and flip off the mother fucker who collided with him, Klaus noticed the hooded stranger had moved. They had slotted themselves next to Rich and now was chatting with him. At some point, they’d pulled down their hood and were whispering into the man’s ear. Face obscured by Rich’s, Klaus couldn’t get a good look at the stranger until they moved back. Underneath the neon glow of the strobe lights, Klaus froze as he realised the stranger’s identity. 

  
A wry smile plastered on his lips and sweat dripping down his forehead. Ben appeared a completely different person than the one Klaus had talked to this morning. The sweet and kind brother he’d revered in his youth was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Ben exuded a predatory beauty that stole the breath from Klaus’s chest. Clad in a pair of skinny black jeans, a white t-shirt, and his leather jacket Ben radiated an aura of dazzling violence. The senseless monster Klaus encountered last was a stark contrast to the hunter at the bar. Right now, his brother was purely refined and pointed cruelty, his teeth bared and ready to rip out someone’s throat. Klaus felt terrible for whoever found themselves at the other end of such violence. 

  
Back and forth, the two men flirted, the interaction charged with tension. Klaus spied on them in snatches as people blocked his line of sight and forced him to move. Something burned in Klaus as the douche canoe placed his hand on Ben’s arm. He had the urge to slap it away and explained the reaction as anger at losing friends because of Rich. Bad news had a name, and it was the dude in front of him. Klaus wanted nothing more than to protect Ben from such a sleazeball. ,

  
When Rich turned away to order drinks for a split second, his brother’s calm facade cracked. A blink and you’d miss it moment of disgust crossed Ben’s face before vanishing again. A storm simmered inside Ben, and the douche had no idea. The unsuspecting bartenders. Whispering into Ben’s ear, Rich distracted him and slipped something into his drink. Klaus found himself trapped in the scrum and unable to help, his voice becoming lost in the waves of pounding music. Ben went to down his spiked drink except strangely, he stopped like he knew something was wrong. Ben pulled the other man into a kiss, and with Rich’s attention diverted, the bartender quickly swapped both shots for fresh ones. 

  
Ben pushed the guy away and grabbed his shot, downed it, and motioned for Rich to follow as he stepped backwards. His brother stumbled and almost tripped. Rich caught him. Hand firmly on Ben’s hip and his arm around his neck. Rich helped his brother stay upright. They began walking, and it became clear to Klaus that the other man was half dragging Ben towards the club’s back. 

  
After that, Klaus lost sight of them, the mass engulfed Klaus and obscured his view off the dance floor. Desperately he attempted to follow, only to be stalled by the people around him. Klaus slipped into the nearest free space and started to weave his way through the crowd. Every gap he vacated was filled again by another person, forcing him to keep moving forward. Hands came out of the faceless mob and clung onto his clothes and arms. Klaus yanked himself away as they tried to draw him back into the dancing brawl. Near the edge, he caught his shoe on someone’s leg and pitched forward. Ejected out of the scrum at the back of the club, he took a moment to gather himself. 

  
A line of waiting clubbers overflowed out from a narrow corridor with a sign for the toilets and emergency exit on the wall above the opening. Klaus spotted his brother leave through the back door with Rich. He shoved into the small gap separating the woman’s restroom queue from the men’s. Several people gave him dirty looks and pushed back as Klaus made his way through to the end. Klaus took a deep breath in and pressed down on the door’s metal bar at the emergency exit. 

  
The cold air hit Klaus’s face as he poked his head out into the dark alleyway. Silhouetted by the moon overhead and entwined in shadows, Ben and Rich stood in the damp alley’s middle. Wrapped around one another, Ben had his hands on the other man’s face as they kissed. It was messy, all clashing teeth and tongue with no finesse or gentleness. It seemed they were trying to devour each other rather than kissing. The edge of the door dug into Klaus’s hands as he gripped it tighter. A reflex as Rich’s hands moved from Ben’s waist to his ass. It took his entire resolve to stop himself from jumping from his hiding space and go out there. The urge to punch the dude and protect Ben was strong. And totally not cause of the anger bubbling up inside him or the heat creeping over his face at someone else putting their hands on Ben. 

  
When Rich’s hands edged closer to Ben’s dick, Klaus admitted to himself he was a fucking liar and jumped into action. Muscle memory from years of training kicked in as he hurled the door open, stepped forward, and froze. A tentacle emerged from Ben’s jacket’s collar and latched onto Rich’s throat’s central vein. The man stiffened as if electrified, and his eyes rolled back into his head. Foam formed around his mouth as he fell forward and started to fit. Ben caught him and held Rich still as the tentacle pulsed while it fed. Blood trickled out of Rich’s ears, mouth, and eyes as the life was sucked out of him. 

  
The door slammed shut behind Klaus with a loud bang, and finally, Ben noticed he was no longer alone. The tentacle quickly let go of the jugular with a wet squelching sound and receded to its home. Caught like a carnivorous deer in the headlights, he stared at Klaus. Both were unable to comprehend the odd situation they found themselves in. Ben lowered the paralysed dude onto the floor and stepped towards Klaus. All he could notice was the blood staining the collar of Ben’s t-shirt as his brother came closer. 

  
Logically he’d always known Ben was capable of this. His powers weren’t a mystery to Klaus. He’d seen the aftermath of the massacres his brother committed as a child. Now forced to face the cold brutality Ben accomplished with relative ease, Klaus wondered where the boy who cried after every mission had gone. Ben held his hand up for Klaus to stay put as he dragged the corpse behind a nearby dumpster. Distantly his mind flittered to ghost at his brother’s apartment. With the same blood trails seeping from her eyes, ears, and mouth as Rich’s. The way she frantically searched for Ben. A story Klaus easily inferred without any details from his brother. 

  
Ben broke him out of his thoughts as he grabbed hold of Klaus’s hand and dragged him away. As they passed the body, his brother checked to be sure it couldn’t be seen from the street. Klaus gripped tightly onto Ben’s hand like a lifeline and let himself be led out of the alley. Once on the main road, Ben moved them in the opposite direction and deeper into the city. Klaus struggled to keep pace with his brother as they walked and stumbled on a cracked paving stone. Ben halted the moment he noticed and released his hand. Out of breath, his brother looked like he expected to bolt. Only for Klaus to stand closer and lean on Ben for support. 

“Why aren’t you running?” Ben asked, his eyebrows knitted in confusion. 

“Because, I want to be here,” Klaus simply replied. 

* * *

Leaving the comforting glow of the convenience store, the plastic bag in Ben’s grip clinked as he walked. Neither spoke as they made the short journey back to Ben’s apartment. Lost in thought, Ben had no idea how to explain everything. Off the table was the topic of his job, and he really did not want to drag Klaus into the Institute’s tumultuous mess. Things were just so messy, and his life was so complicated. He had no good excuse to justify what Klaus caught him doing only an hour ago. 

  
Finally, they rounded the corner to Ben’s short street. The house he owned and inhabited alone close by. Klaus quickened his step to keep up with Ben and veered sideways. For a brief moment, his hand brushed against Ben’s, long enough for him to play with the idea of grabbing it. He’d spent so much of their shared childhood hanging off Klaus. Ben wondered when the hesitancy set in, and he’d stopped reaching out. Of course, Klaus hadn’t noticed and retreated further away again. Ben arrived at the gate to his home, first pushed it. The gate squeaked in protest as it swung open on rusty hinges and clattered as it hit the wall. Without a look back, Ben trotted down the stairs and made his descent into the courtyard. 

  
He turned around as he reached the last step and looked up at Klaus. At the top of the staircase and under the street lights, Klaus’s face was nigh on unreadable. The rift between them profoundly larger than the physical space diving them. Seemingly impossible to mend, Ben had no clue what to say or do to make things go back to what it used to be. The ease of childhood now replaced with a mountain of emotional baggage. So long, Ben had hidden his monstrous side from the people he loved. The Academy had never truly been privy to the scale of his abilities, only the aftermath. Under just two days, Klaus saw him at his most repulsive and still chose to stay. 

  
Klaus moved three quarters down the stairs and sat on a step. He tucked his knees under his chin and motioned for Ben to pass over the bag. Ben removed his purchased bottom shelf rum and then gave his brother the bag. Klaus retrieved his chosen poison of vodka and cracked it open. He chugged a long gulp straight without wincing and wiped his mouth. At the same time, Ben unscrewed his bottle’s lid and drank a mouthful before replacing the top and stowed it into his jacket pocket. Alone and able to talk privately, Ben had no idea how to go forward with the conversation. The words eluded him as most of what he could say was too raw to think of, let alone speak aloud. 

  
Ben brought out a crumpled cigarette carton from his other pocket to give himself time to think and tapped one out. He placed the end between his lips and swapped the carton for his lighter. He rolled his thumb over the ignition wheel until the lighter sparked to life. Ben held the flame to the tip until the cigarette glowed orange. The smoke hit his chest as he inhaled a long hit and noticed out the corner of his eye, Klaus longingly stare at the cigarette. Without a thought, Ben took the lit smoke from his mouth and offered it end first to his brother. Klaus uncurled his legs and stood upright. He went down a few steps until only an arm’s distance from Ben. His brother quickly snatched the cigarette away, and for a brief moment, Klaus’s fingers brushed against Ben’s hand before he pulled back. The minor touch forced Ben to face the truth of his isolation as he relished the contact. 

Klaus went back to his spot on the staircase. His hands shook as he put the cigarette in his mouth and began to smoke. After a minute, when his body stilled from the shock, Klaus broke the silence, “Why didn’t you ever come looking for any of us?”

The question came as a surprise to Ben. His brother hadn’t asked about the situation they’d just left, rather something deeper in their shared history. Klaus wanted a reason why he’d disappeared almost a decade ago. Without a goodbye and without letting his siblings know he was alive. Ben could answer that. Not the entire truth, most of it needed to remain hidden, but there was a good chunk of authenticity in the answer. 

  
“When I ran away,” Ben inhaled sharply, “when I ran away, Dad caught me. He told me if I took one step out of the Academy, I couldn’t return.”

Ben paced nervously as he talked, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. 

“I didn’t believe him until a few days later when on every front page and news station reported I’d died. I got the hint and never risked revealing myself to anyone,” the words were hard for Ben to say. He hoped Klaus understood, though he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. 

  
Without warning, Klaus stood bolt upright and knocked his vodka flying. The bottle rolled down the stairs as he stepped forwards until he was eye level with Ben.

“Bullshit. You know most of em left after that, right? I found out from fucking Diego months afterward. The Academy fucking imploded when you ‘died,’” Klaus bent his fingers in air quotes to emphasise the last word. “any of us would’ve fucking loved for you to make contact.”

  
“Fine, I thought it better to be dead,” Ben spat out his admission, “the Horror was becoming harder to restrain, and I never wanted to be a monster. Better dead than let you all see me like that.”

“Double fucking bullshit. Ben, we never gave a crap about that shit. Telling us the truth would’ve hurt less than leaving us,” Klaus paused with a pained expression on his face, “leaving _me_ without a goodbye.”

  
The crux of the matter in the open, Ben realised the lasting impact his vanishing had on Klaus. The last time he’d seen Reginald face to face, he’d conveyed the others wouldn’t miss him. They’d already moved on from losing Five, so the Umbrella Academy’s could manage with just four. Why had he believed his Father? Ben knew he lied and manipulated them. Back then, it seemed so plausible to be false. Always his closest confidant to trust Reginald that Klaus would be unaffected by his exit was incredibly dumb. With his brother so close for the first time in years, Ben bridged the physical distance and pulled Klaus into a hug. 

  
“I’m sorry,” Ben whispered into the crook of Klaus’s neck. Attempting to demonstrate the guilt he felt for leaving with an embrace. Only for Klaus to push him back and step away. He tripped on a stair and fell backwards. Awkwardly he landed face up to Ben, the cigarette still in his mouth. 

“You can’t just expect to fix everything with a half-assed apology and a hug. I need time and answers on what the fuck happened at that club. You killed a dude Ben.”

“I know. Okay. Important shit is never easy. I can’t tell you what happened, but please just trust me? Ben pleaded with Klaus. 

“I’m not sure, Ben. Can you at least reassure me it wasn’t to do with Dad.”

“He isn’t involved. I’ve not talked to the bastard in years.”

  
Ben held out a hand to Klaus. His brother took it, and Ben pulled him onto his feet. Once up, Klaus walked past him and headed straight for the front door. He dug the spare keys out of his jean’s pocket and unlocked it. Before Klaus opened it, Ben shouted to him.

“I get things aren’t okay yet between us, but Klaus? Ben paused, “I want you to stay with me. I can’t leave things like this.”

  
Klaus turned back to him and visibly softened. The anger was replaced with an expression of deep sorrow.

“Sure,” he replied. 

  
He pushed the door and paused before entering the apartment.

“It’s late, and that sofa can’t be comfortable. Want to share the bed tonight?” Klaus’s question hung in the chilly autumn air and took Ben aback. 

  
An olive branch offered by Klaus was one Ben badly wanted to take. His favourite childhood memories were sharing a bed with Klaus. Of late-night talks about the future and a warm body to hold during the worst of his nightmares. And it was an offer Ben had to refuse. Not with his greatest fear and regret haunting him. 

“No, sorry. I need some time to clear my head,” he lied, and Ben’s heart winced as he watched Klaus’s face fall. 

  
The door slammed shut at his brother, left him to his solitude. Finally, Ben let his mask slip. It hurt. It hurt so much. He detested his life had devolved into lies and isolation, but what could he do? The Institute needed him, and Klaus had to remain unaware of that side of his life. His brother needed to accept the facade he presented than learn the depth of Ben’s deception. Too many things relied on Ben to remain as he was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo finally done, sorry it took me a hot minute to update. Had a pretty bad depressive episode and got sick so writing had to be put on on hold. I fucking adored S2 of TUA and it made me rethink some of the major world-building details of this story and rewrite half of chapter two.
> 
> Anyway I hope you like it cause the plot thickens.


	4. Five Ghosts Who Followed Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some Non-Con kissing in this chapter and starts at Without warning, Cain moved and ends at the assault triggered Klaus's long

Sunday started eerily quiet. Ben sat on his pulled out sofa bed and drank his first coffee of the day. Sleep hadn’t come easy to him last night. The mess of the previous two days had kept him properly drifting off. Klaus had wormed his way back into his life and Ben refused to contemplate kicking him out. He also gave Ben a reason to go back to the Academy. He’d cope with the lumpy sofa bed until he sorted out a spare room upstairs for Klaus. 

Eight am chimed on the antique carriage clock hung above the door frame. Ben decided it was late enough for him to start moving around and go for a smoke. He stood up and folded away the elderly sofa bed with several creaks and groans. The thing was near on five years and needed to be replaced, but things kept Ben from being able to. 

Ben poured himself a second cup of coffee in the kitchen and grabbed his smoking stuff off the counter. He didn’t bother to put on shoes as he left the living room into the main hallway. As he passed his bedroom door, Ben paused and listened to check if Klaus was awake yet. The corridor remained silent and gave him his answer. 

The stone was cold against his bare feet as Ben stepped out his front door. He closed it slowly and rested his back on the white plastic. Overcast and grey the sky prophesied rain later. Ben lit a cigarette and puffed at it with breaks to sip his coffee. With no plans today he thought about having a catch up with Klaus. He wanted to know how everyone else was getting on. Despite his close relationship with Klaus, Ben used to be on good terms with all his siblings. 

Magazines barely touched upon the defunct Umbrella Academy or the kids who used to be stars. The only person Ben got regular information on was Allison. Her career as an actress kept her in the public eye, and the stories written about her were mostly positive. She’d gone through a tumultuous year, and the media had not been kind. 

His cigarette burned to the end as Ben lost himself in thought. The column of ash it became fell and brought him back to reality. Ben dumped the butt into the ashtray bucket and drained his coffee cup. He went back inside and scraped his dirty wet feet onto the welcome mat. In the space of the fifteen minutes he’d spent outside, Ben’s bedroom door was now op, en, and he could hear the radio in the next room. 

Klaus sat on one of the kitchen islands with his back to the door. A coffee mug and a pop tart box sat next to his knee. The spare clothes lent to him fitted him badly and somehow were both baggy and to tight at the same time. The hoodie had become a crop top on him, and the sweat pants were low enough to show Klaus’s underwear. When he heard the front door close, Klaus turned around and smiled at Ben with a pop tart in his mouth. 

Ben let out a long-suffering sigh, “I’d prefer if you didn’t sit on my kitchen counters.”

“and I’d prefer not to be imagining Santa giving the Easter Bunny a handjob, but here we are,” Klaus retorted through a mouthful of food. 

For a moment, Ben paused and blinked as what just been said washed over him. 

“y’know what. I don’t care. Just don’t knock anything off.”

When Ben sat back down on the sofa, Klaus chose to ask the question he was dreading. 

“as much as I enjoy wearing your clothes. I’d really like to grab some stuff from Dad’s today,” Klaus stopped for a beat and hurriedly continued, “wouldyoumindcomingalong?”

“Can you repeat that, please? This time slower.”

“would you mind coming along?” Klaus repeated slowly and tacked on, “I don’t want to go alone.”

Ben froze. The opportunity to get his assignment over and done with was a tantalising one. He just thought he would have a few more days to prepare emotionally for going back. 

“I’m not allowed back, remember? Pretty sure Dad will throw me out the moment I set foot on the property,” he half-faked resistance to the request and waited for Klaus to answer.

“good news. Dad’s out the country. Pogo told me when I swung by yesterday.”

“it’s a bad idea, but for you, I’ll go.”

Plan made Klaus hopped off the counter and returned to the bedroom. Ben sniffed the hoodie hung on the back of the sofa and decided it was clean enough to wear. He hadn’t bothered with changing into pyjamas last night and slept in yesterdays clothes. They would do for today. 

For twenty minutes, dread gnawed at Ben’s insides as he tried to brace himself for the next few hours. The Academy still held power over him even if he pretended it didn’t matter to the outside world. He was broken out of his spiral by the emergence of Klaus from his bedroom. He still wore Ben’s borrowed hoodie and his own lace sided leggings and found enough time to messily apply eyeliner. Ben slipped on his socks and shoes while Klaus did the same. Together they were ready to face the place filled with echoes that still haunted them. 

Ominously the Academy loomed over Ben as he stared up at the building he’d spent his childhood in. The structure barely had changed in the time he’d last set eyes on it. Spider thin cracks had formed over the stonework and rust had taken hold at the junctures of iron railings the only sign time had moved forwards. 

Orange flakes brushed onto Ben’s fingers as he touched the front gate. The hinges remained eerily silent as it swung open. Ben held it to let Klaus enter first and followed not long after. 

Inside, the foyer was stuck in the past. Everything was the same from the furniture to the décor, though they were all a little more worn. It was surreal to Ben, many of his worst nightmares took centre stage here, and it seemed so mundane to his adult eyes. He’d been branded like a piece of meat with his siblings in this room. As well taught over and over, his emotions meant nothing to Sir Reginald Hargreeves. Ben forced a tide of bad memories which had surfaced at coming home down. 

Klaus swiftly walked through the foyer without batting an eye and went up the stairs towards the bedrooms. Half-heartedly Ben began to follow and froze as he passed the formal living room’s open door. The sight of Five’s portrait over the mantle place put his heart in a vice. Seventeen years and to Ben, his brother was forever stuck in his mind as a thirteen-year-old boy. The first to leave with no closure, Ben could never settle whether he beloved his brother dead or out there somewhere. Time was such a vast realm, and Five might’ve found the home all seven had dreamed of as children. Ben wished he had just so one of them could be happy. 

The distinct sound of the front door turning forced Ben to dash into the living room. He moved to one side and hid next to a shelf filled with old awards addressed to Sir Hargreeves and old memorabilia of his life. Ben held his breath and made himself keep calm. 

“Mom? Pogo?” Diego’s almost unrecognisable voiced called out in the foyer. 

Ben’s stomach dropped as the footsteps drew closer to the living room. Panicked, he frantically scanned around for an easy way out. The exit down to the basement was merely a few feet away and before he could start moving Pogo appeared. Stiffly the chimp walked past with a cane in his hand and pointedly ignored Ben.

“It was me, Master Diego. Grace is downstairs waiting for you,” his words were carefully clipped as Pogo spoke and gave nothing away. 

“Thanks, Pogo, I’ll talk to you later,” Diego replied. His footsteps receded deeper into the Academy and left Pogo and Ben alone. 

Pogo turned around to face Ben. “It’s nice to see you, Master Ben.”

Ben was able to get a better look at Pogo. Age had crept over the chimp like the Academy around them. Grey peppered his dark brown fur, and he needed an assistance device to walk. Pogo stood out to the one permanent resident of the Academy to grow old and change compared to Sir Hargreeves and Grace’s static appearances. 

“you need to be careful, no one can know you’ve been back,” Pogo chastised gently. His words filled with an undercurrent of warm affection. 

“Sorry,” Ben answered. 

He had so much he wanted to say to Pogo. Ben missed Pogo greatly over the last decade. The chimp had done so much to protect the seven Umbrella Academy members from their father. Pogo had cared deeply for the orphans left under his care, and Ben wanted to thank him for that. There was no time, though, they both understood the real reason why he’d come home. 

From within his jacket, Pogo removed a manilla envelope and forced it into Ben’s hands. The obvious book shape lump inside gave away what it was without Ben needing to see it. He opened his bag and slipped the envelope into it. 

“For safety’s sake, I think you should wait outside.”

Ben nodded in agreement. With Diego in the house, the chance of getting caught was high. He quickly hugged Pogo as a goodbye and quietly left the Academy.

On the other side of the street from the Academy, Ben waited by a newsstand for his brother to come out. He paid for a pack of cigarettes and idly scanned the gossip magazines hung on laundry pegs at eye level. One caught his attention in particular. With her index finger over her mouth and a mask over her eyes, Allison took over the front cover. The bylines about her mostly talked about her career or wished her a happy birthday. Though one titled _The Umbrella Academy: Where Are They Now_ grabbed is what had captured him. 

He added a copy to the transaction and paid the extra money for it. Ben moved further from the newsstand and leaned against a street lamp. Mindlessly he tore open the carton and inserted a cigarette between his lips and lit it. While he smoked, Ben began to flip through the magazine until he reached the section he wanted to read. 

The author had written the piece in numerical order of the Academy. Each segment had photographs of them as both children and adults. With the latter being the most recent, the author was able to find. All accompanied with a feature of their last whereabouts. 

Luther had gone to space with very little details on why. His adult photos were years old at this point and professionally staged in the Academy jumpsuits. He still looked tired in them despite the effort to make him look perfect. Underneath Diego had been harder to track down. He’d vanished out the limelight at seventeen and gone his own way. Blurry paparazzi shots from crime scenes or the Academy front were all that could be dug up. 

Allison had a whole page to herself. Her career and personal life were easier to chronicle compared to the others. Over the last year, she’d gone through a very public, very messy divorce and lost custody of her daughter, Claire. The paparazzi had hounded her throughout out, making money off her pain as they snapped photographs of her crying after a visit with her daughter. 

The next page had scrunched the last four in. No one knew where or what Klaus was up to other than an extensively covered admission to rehab at age twenty. His first of many. Five and Ben shared a section, there wasn’t much to say other than the former was still missing and the latter dead. Vanya’s had the smallest feature, she’d fallen back into obscurity after they world grew bored. Her fifteen minutes in the sun over after she’d divulged her trauma and story to the public. 

Finished, Ben checked the Academy for life. Klaus waited with his own cigarette in his mouth, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder by the basement entrance. Diego appeared with two suitcases in his hands, one hot pink and the other dark blue behind him. He dropped them both next to Klaus and began to talk with him. Ben stayed put until his estranged brother returned inside. He closed the magazine, rolled it up and shoved it into his pocket while he waited. The moment Diego left, Ben crossed the street, his head bent down to hide his face. 

Gently, Ben tapped Klaus on the shoulder from behind. Instantly his brother whipped around to face him, and his expression darkened when he saw who it was. 

“where the fuck were you? Diego had to bring my shit out, and he kept asking awkward questions,” Klaus hissed. 

Ben looked around and replied quietly, “couldn’t get caught. Sorry.” 

“you do remember Dad isn’t here, right? You don’t need to hide.” in annoyance, Klaus crossed his arms. 

“it’s best Diego doesn’t find out about me yet.”

“Why?” Klaus asked. And when Ben remained silent and gave no reason Klaus pulled his cigarette out his mouth and stamped it on the floor. 

“so your plan is to keep this charade up to everyone minus me? Gee Ben what a good position to force me in,” sarcastically his brother exclaimed. 

“The world thinks I’m dead, and it should stay that way.”

“tell that to the siblings who fucking grieved over you instead of hiding behind silence.”

“Keep your voice down. This is not the place to talk about this.”

“Fine. Fuck you.”

  
Unceremoniously Klaus dumped his duffel bag on to Ben’s feet and with a middle finger as a goodbye turned around and stalked off. God that could’ve gone a whole lot better. Ben picked up the bag and two suitcases and walked off in the opposite direction. They both needed some time to cool off. Hopefully, Klaus would eventually understand the world still needed to think the superhero known as the Horror was dead. No matter how much Ben wanted, it to be a different way.

* * *

The night had crept slowly over the city with very little acknowledgement from Klaus. Hours and hours had gone by since he’d left Ben outside the Academy. Hot, sharp anger still burned in his chest as he wandered the streets to clear his mind. The earlier conversation played over in his mind on repeat. Ben acted so distantly like he no longer considered himself apart of the Academy or their sibling and kept up their father’s lie when he no longer needed to. It frustrated Klaus to despair.

Once he could have read Ben like an open book, now his brother gave nothing away. Last night Klaus believed he’d broken through and had seen the Ben he used to know. Though like a half-remembered dream he’d vanished again and today the cold person Klaus met two days ago had returned.

Instinctively as darkness fell, Klaus’s feet had guided him to the dockyards. Somewhere between the rusting shipping containers and empty cranes, he would find the means for the one escape that always worked. With the money he’d scrounged from the Academy earlier, he had just enough to buy a hit or two to forget his emotions. He started the search for a dealer as he walked down the main thoroughfare of the dockyard. The ones around here sold terrible stuff; they were mostly other drug addicts who needed money for their own poison. At least they were independent and wanted to do quick, no fuss trades.

  
Klaus’s bones rattled as his body hit against the green shipping container he’d just walked past. The impact forced his jaw to violently click shut around his tongue, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. More dribbled down his chin and fell onto the fist which had a grip on a handful of Klaus’s borrowed hoodie. 

  
The fist belonged to a heavy set white man who’s weight kept Klaus still. He had a clean-shaven head, and half a skull tattoo overlaid his face. A very similar yet smaller guy held a knife in his hands and kept watch next to him. The bigger dude’s other hand went under Klaus’s chin and tilted it upwards. Putrid breath drifted across his face as the man talked through a mouth filled with yellowing teeth. 

  
“so the rumours were true. You’re out of rehab and didn’t think to drop me a call,” rasped Cain. 

“I was gonna. I swear. Just needed some time to myself to get used to being out again,” Klaus desperately tried to smooth things over, but he knew deep down it was futile. 

“You’re a terrible liar, Klaus.” Cain smiled. “but I am a forgiving man. I’ll let you off everything this time.”

“Because you belong to me and I don’t like breaking the things that are mine.”

The words disgusted Klaus and made him want to recoil. He belonged to no one, not anymore. He’d refused to be an object to be coveted or owned the moment his world stopped. The moment he’d thought Ben had died. Without him, Klaus no longer wanted part of the thing which he’d believed killed his brother. 

His flight response was an urge almost impossible to resist. Cain appeared calm now, but underneath the relaxed demeanour, anger was boiling. All Klaus had wanted was to score off a dealer not under Cain’s fucking employment. Of course, life was never easy for Klaus. Sometime in the three months off the streets, Cain had managed to strong-arm the last few independents into his operation. Fucking wonderful. 

Without warning, Cain moved his head forward and pressed his mouth against Klaus’s. Fruitlessly Klaus attempted to turn his head away from the kiss only for the other man to pry his lips apart with his tongue. The slimy intrusion nearly made Klaus gag as he hopelessly thumped his fists against Cain’s hard chest. 

The assault triggered Klaus’s long-buried fight instinct. Years of self-defence training kicked in as on reflex had grabbed Cain’s hand and bent it back. Klaus heard a crack as several fingers broke. Then he kneed the bastard in the groin. Cain buckled over. Before Klaus could finish his attack, the forgotten accomplice stepped in and pressed the knife to his ribs. 

Klaus froze as warm blood trickled down his side and into his leggings. To try anything more would a monumentally dumb move. He’d seen first hand what blades were capable of and the nasty wounds they left behind. He was one deep breath away from an even more severe injury or a collapsed lung. 

Slowly Cain composed stood upright and composed himself. Then he grabbed Klaus by the throat. Large calloused hands crushed Klaus’s windpipe and lifted him into the air. A thin whistling sound came out his mouth, and the oxygen was forced from his lungs. He couldn’t get a new breath in as his legs twitched. Klaus gasped and spluttered as he failed to pry the fingers off his throat. He could sense himself close to unconsciousness when Cain abruptly let go. 

Klaus landed onto the rough concrete like a sack of potatoes. Half-dazed he curled into a defensive ball, he rested his chin against his chest and wrapped his arms around his head. A storm full of kicks began to rain down on his body as the two thugs did their best to inflict the most pain as possible. They stamped on his coiled legs and managed to even get a few blows past his arms and reach his face. Silently Klaus withdrew into himself and let the beating happened. He returned in his mind where he’d gone when left in the pitch dark mausoleum as a child. 

The brutal assault lasted for what seemed an eternity for Klaus but couldn’t have been more than five minutes in reality. Once finished Cain squatted down next to Klaus and grabbed a fist full of his hair. He wrenched his head back hard and forced Klaus to focus his eyes on him. 

“Next time, don’t resist me. Or I’ll let Judas over there off his leash and oh loves his knives,” the words were gentle like a lover’s kiss, but his tone was filled with toxic vitriol. 

Cain released Klaus’s hair and stood up. He ended the encounter by hocking something deep from inside his lungs and spat it on Klaus’s face. Left a shivery wreck on the floor, Klaus watched as Cain strutted away with his faithful thug at his heels. 

His body screamed as Klaus straightened out. Underneath his coat, he knew there were fresh bruises and grazes scattered over his pale skin. The sockets around his eyes ached and warm liquid trickled from his nose and mouth. He wiped Cain’s spit off with the back of his hand and stared in detached shock when he saw bright red blood mixed in with the bright green loogie. 

He didn’t bother to move or get up off the frozen ground as the world faded away around Klaus. The pain became a meaningless distraction and was replaced with a hollowness which washed over Klaus like an ocean wave. He’d found himself back at rock bottom. Numb to the world outside his head Klaus barely noticed the first drops of rain which hit his face. Detached from everything he knew, he should feel angry or upset. Ben still was hiding things, and he’d just had the shit kicked out of him, but Klaus just felt empty. 

Over and over, Klaus’s life ended in situations like this. Bad luck had followed Klaus since birth. Every single time he thought he was back on his feet, something came along to knock him over again. Klaus wondered if eventually, he couldn’t get back up. That one day he’d shatter into a million different pieces that were impossible to put together into him. The Academy had left deep scars into Klaus, its poisoned roots had taken hold young and choked out any joy or peace within him. His very core tainted by his father. 

The rain came down harder and washed away some of the blood on his hand. The sound of thunder above forced Klaus to finally move. He pushed himself off the ground and stood upright. His clothes were sodden with rainwater and squelched whenever he took a limping step forward. He decided to leave the docks and go to the only place he could. Ben cared even through his indifference and saw truly saw the real Klaus. Not the junkie loser, or the fuck up, or the wayward child, the rest of the world, saw him as. 

Ben saw everything and still cared about _him_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it's taken so long to update. I got really sick for like 2 months and could barely do anything but play animal crossing and sleep. but I am better now and already have chapters 5 and 6 drafted and 7 outlined. 🦄🦄🦄
> 
> Also read this thing I wrote in October and published in January. it's good
> 
> [Painted In Grief ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340292)


End file.
